


Quirky Girl

by comosusananas



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comosusananas/pseuds/comosusananas
Summary: PTSD, anxiety, and a quirky neighbor are giving Mark insomnia, while Mindy is looking for Morse code.





	Quirky Girl

**Author's Note:**

> PTSD, anxiety, therapy. Forgive me if things aren't completely accurate. It's been a long time since I've been to a therapist.  
> Also, remember this is an AU: things might not look exactly right.

Every day, the same music from next door. Every night, the same silence. Mark didn’t know what to think of his quirky neighbor, except that she must have kept odd hours. Like he did. He understood what it was like to watch the hours pass by with no reprieve. He knew she worked at JSC in Houston. Like he did. The only things he knew about her were similar to the things he knew about himself. Employed by NASA? Check. Odd hours? Check. Insomnia? Probably. He didn’t know her name. Quirky Girl? That’s what he called her in his head. Nevertheless, he felt connected to her. Why would he feel connected to a total stranger? It didn’t make sense. Of course, nothing these days made much sense. Work, lunch with friends, weekly psychiatric appointments to make sure his noggin was still in good-working condition. That was arguable though. He had acquired -stolen- some HAB canvas from JSC, and lined his windows and exterior walls with it. He knew it was irrational. Nothing that could kill him on Earth would be stopped by HAB canvas, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try it. Insecurities come in all different shapes and sizes. Mark had lived for so long in the relative safety of the HAB - not including the night Airlock 2 had broken free, sending him tumbling across the Martian landscape - he didn’t know how to live without the stupid canvas anymore. If only he could attach an airlock to his front door… Not that it would help. He was still convinced he’d die from exposure, lack of oxygen, lack of water, too much CO2, too much nitrogen--hell, anything other than the correct ratio of air that gives Earth life. Did his psychiatrist know any of this? Fuck no. He wasn’t crazy or stupid enough to tell him. No one knew. No one could ever know. Mark was going to figure it out. Just like he did for all those SOLs on Mars. Knowing the healthy thing to do was to keep track of all his insecurities, he kept a journal. Or journals, to be more accurate. The thing about journals was they always fell into the wrong hands...

 

~~~***~~~

 

The quirky girl didn’t notice things about her neighbor. She didn’t even know she had one. She never saw lights on at night. Never heard music from his apartment. Radio silence. It was almost too similar to those long nights in SatCom, waiting to see the next morse message from Watney. Why Mindy still thought about him, she’d never know. It was like he was close enough to touch, which was ridiculous of course. He probably didn’t live on JSC campus anymore. Just like the Ares III landing, Mark Watney’s medical - and therefore living condition - release was public knowledge. She almost felt sorry for him, since his every move was easily googled. Or it was up until 3 months ago, when he seemed to drop off the face of the earth. Which she knew he hadn’t. He wasn’t allowed to leave the planet again. Strict NASA orders. So what the hell happened to him? Mindy had tried to ask around; Venkat knew nothing, Annie knew but wouldn’t tell, and she felt too self-conscious to go to any of the other Ares III crew. It wasn’t normal for her to be so consumed with his location, which was how she found herself seeing the NASA psychiatrist for the first time on a Thursday afternoon, convinced she was as crazy as her supervisors said she was…

 

~~~***~~~

 

Mark paced the floor in front of the doc’s chair for the hundredth time, knowing what not to say, but not how to get around it. Fingers ran through his hair at an unprecedented rate, hairs getting pulled none too gently. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He thought he’d practiced well enough to get through the session, but he realized he wasn’t as solid on his excuses as he had hoped. Finally sitting down on The Couch, he made a decision and told the psych one small truth of his less-than-hopeful life back on Earth. 

“I can’t sleep, doc. I spend my days teaching, and my nights pacing.” It all came out in a rush, like the air was being sucked from his lungs.  _ That’s not happening, I’m not in space. _

“What have you tried, Mark? We’ve discussed various methods of calming yourself: breathing, counting backwards, observing your thoughts? I can’t help you unless you help me understand, Mark.” Every time the doctor spoke, Mark wanted nothing more than to punch him in his stupid face.

“Methods to calm myself. Yes, doc, I’ve tried them all. I even warmed milk and sang myself a lullaby.” Mark always was fluent in sarcasm. It was a gift.

“Like I said, I can’t help you unless you help me understand what’s going on. All of what’s going on. I want you to thi--” His voice was cut off by the  _ ding _ of his session-ending bell. “I guess we’ll pick up on that note next time. See you next week?”

Mark sighed heavily with relief. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be here, as sanctioned by NASA.” As Mark stood up, he didn’t feel his pocket notebook slide out of his back pocket, between the cushions of The Couch. Waving to the doc, he took a deep breath, and walked out to the waiting room. Pulling his sunglasses out of his pocket, he didn’t notice the slight gasp come from the corner of the room, where Quirky Girl noticed just who was walking out the door.

 

~~~***~~~

 

“Miss Park, the doctor will see you now.” The secretary called a little too loudly for Mindy’s taste.

As Mindy cleared her head of the revelation she had just experienced, she neared the counter as quickly as she could without running. “Ahem, something has actually come up. Is there any way I could reschedule? I know it’s last minute, but --”

Before she could finish her request to chase after the real, 3-D version of Watney she’d just seen, the doctor poked his head out to find his newest patient.

“Ah, Miss Park, right this way.” With the no-nonsense tone of his voice, she was forced to follow him to his office. Once they were settled into their respective seats, he asked, “So, Miss Park, you’re a new patient referred to me by your superior. Please tell me, in your own words, why I’m seeing you today.”

“Well, my bosses felt I was - er, am - becoming obsessed with the whereabouts of Mark Watney. I was, technically, the one to find him still alive on Mars, and became his Space Paparazzo in the months following. I spent every night for 507 SOLs  watching his every move. At least, the moves I could see from the satellites. Look, it sounds extra creepy when I spell this all out for you, but it’s not as weird as it sounds. I promise.” She finished on a whisper, leaning toward the doctor with wide eyes, hoping he’d understand through the sheer force of her willpower how un-creepy she was.

“I see. And how many times per day do you look for him?” His voice sounded nasal to Mindy’s ears.

“I find myself still looking for him on Mars, nightly. I know he’s on Earth, but I can’t shake the habit, or the need to find him alive and well. I’m just worried. I just don’t know if he’s even alive - I mean, I know he’s alive, I just feel like I need to see him or hear from him or … something…?”

As her hour continued, Mindy noticed something poking her from The Couch. Waiting until the doc’s back was turned, she reached into the couch and pulled out what appeared to be a notebook. Knowing Mark had been the last person in the office, she did something out of character for her, and placed the notebook in her bag, never taking her eyes off the psychiatrist.

 

~~~***~~~

 

Mark was headed toward the JSC cafeteria to find some of the killer pie he knew was served 24 hours a day. Good, old-fashioned Apple Pie with whip and an extra sprinkling of cinnamon awaited him weekly from his horrid excursion to the psychiatrist. Sometimes he thought he’d rather pay double to eat the apple pie than go see the doc.

There was no real reason to come to the café, other than that he knew Quirky Girl would be leaving her apartment soon, to come work in whatever department she worked in. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know her better, on a personal level. He just didn’t know how to do it. What was he supposed to say to someone he knew so well but had never met before? Instead, he did what he always did, and came to the café for some pie before heading home.

Today, though, held a surprise for Mark. He discovered Quirky Girl liked pie too.


End file.
